


I See You

by Le_Oof



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Blow Jobs, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Frottage, Guilt, Humiliation, I honestly don't know how long I'm going to make this, I know literally nothing about chess, I literally looked up "how to get a checkmate" on google and CP'D, I swear I'm making this sound much more sad than it actually is, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Regret, Smut, not very long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:15:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29649807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_Oof/pseuds/Le_Oof
Summary: "Have you-ever considered..maybe, seeing other people?''"Andraste bless my god-fearing Commander, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" He leaned forward against the table, and the spectacle of a specimen so eloquently graceful to an impossibly high standard fumbling his words-using a collapsing table for support lest he fall flat on his moustache, was almost a comfort for him in this paralyzingly aggravating situation he'd found himself in.Dorian came to stop mere inches from his face, an intoxicating smell of various spices, lavender, and Fereldan Ale characterizing his aura as he stared-those unbearably irresistible cloudy grey eyes holding an almost terrifying gaze on him like Cullen were the only man in the room-the only man in all of Skyhold at that."Because-" Dorian leaned forward, moustache tickling against Cullen's jawline as his hot breaths hitting against the cuff of his shoulder left numbing tingles through his spine, "because I see you, Commander." He leaned even further forward until those lips ghosted just above his ear, mere heat radiating from his body catching Cullen breathless and helpless under that intense closeness."I see you."
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford, Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan (past)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

Cullen Rutherford was, for all he knew of himself, a rather simple man. He wanted for nothing, asked for nothing, because he never believed in asking for something when he was perfectly capable of fighting for it himself. 

The problem with that was he did not want until want ventured into need, and by then, he became helpless in his pursuit of it. Fighting for things you want was easy, because whether or not you fail was mostly unbothersome-they're simply _wants_ after all, they held no dire importance to the essence of your character nor the way in which the globe turns on its axis. 

Fighting for something you need, however? That was a risky venture, an investment you'd endeavor the potential risk of forfeiting every living part of yourself in order to obtain that need.

He did not know that Dorian Pavus was something he _needed_ until it was far too late. 

Cullen Rutherford was not a betting man. A risk-taker, dutifully, but when it came to divvying up important pieces of himself or those of others for a mere chance at something worthy of that kind of forfeiture, Cullen certainly wanted no part of that life. Even in his position, even in his risk plays, were he incredibly calculated, careful to an overwhelming extent because far too much rid on his shoulders for him to not be meticulously precautious. 

But the line between taking risks and betting for something unguaranteed was one Cullen never dared cross. 

That was, until Dorian Pavus slipped through cracks invisible to him in that unshakeable, unwavering and particular routine he'd sworn his life by, and, frankly, completely fucked him over. 

"Am I terribly misinformed in saying you seem a bit distracted today, Commander?" 

_Because of you, you confounding maker of messes. I am distracted, infinitely, by the mere presence of **you.**_ "Cullen," he corrected Dorian instead, straightening in his chair and not even bothering to look at the board as he nudged his pawn two squares to the left, capturing Dorian's advanced pawn on the diagonal. "And, my apologies. I'm simply-tired is all." 

It wasn't a complete lie. Cullen didn't get much sleep as it is, and now with certain.. _revelations,_ what little sleep he would get were plagued with vivid pictures of Dorian. Most were innocent, a mere brush-by here and there, perfectly rounded and tanned lips tilting knowingly as they'd meet, nothing more than a child's idea of a kiss before he'd be thrust into the waking world. 

Some dreams, however, were far from innocent. Those perfect lips pressed against his neck, slick and cold teeth boring into his flesh as beautifully chocolate-tanned skin; warm-to-the-touch would press closely to his, lithe, slender and long fingers leaving a steaming trail down his bare chest, torso, down, down, _down-_

"Well, I certainly hope it won't affect your job duties, Commander. Lest it be you have a seething Trevelyan banging down your door because you let some doting recruit cleave a sword straight through your abdomen during your~ _meditative_ training."

"Cullen," he corrected again, watching as those perfectly manicured fingers of his gripped slowly, cautiously, around the base of one of his own pawns. "Trevelyan _has_ been complaining about how our troops aren't as lively as he wishes them to be. I'd imagine contributing to the many battle scars littering their great Commander's body would certainly wake them up a bit." 

Dorian stared inquisitively at him for a spill, graciously giving Cullen the excuse to unabashedly stare into those stormy greys of his for a long while before Dorian looked back down to he chessboard, sliding his pawn forward. "Sometimes I'm almost terrified you mean those things you say, Commander. You have a-confusing sense of humor." 

"Cullen." He leaned forward, shifting his Queen to h5, trapping his king with a smug smirk tilting his lips. "Checkmate."

"Confound it all, you must be cheating!" Dorian moaned, glaring menacingly at the chess pieces like they were the ones to personally offend him.

"Yes, and I'm sure my five pawn pieces stuffed into your sleeves agree adamantly with that sentiment." Cullen said through a smile, small chuckle sliding from his lips at the mock offense making Dorian's mouth gape into a comically large 'O' shape. 

"Why, I never! To be accosted by such foul lies, does my agony never en-" a heavy silence fell over them-one could hear a pen drop as two separate pawn pieces, both characteristically similar to those belonging to Cullen, slipped out of Dorian's sleeves during his dramatic outburst and clattered noisily against the table. Cullen gave pointed looks to them, fixing Dorian with a knowing, almost motherly glare. "Those are _not_ what they seem to be." 

"Oh, is that so?" Cullen chortled emphatically, picking up one of the pieces and twirling the solid wood between his fingers as he smirked smugly at Dorian. "So what exactly, Lord Pavus, are they?''

"Spontaneous emotional magical consequences," Dorian replied almost immediately, face absolutely stoic in his beliefs. "I'm a mage, you remember. These sort of things can happen."

"Certainly feels rather too real for a mage's outburst to me," Cullen mumbled through a chuckle, tapping the wood against the table and smirking triumphantly at the telling _thump_ it made on contact.

"Yes well, I am a very talented mage," Dorian replied, waving his hand emphatically in the air in attempts to prove his point. 

Before Cullen could respond, those damned soul-sucking bells chimed shrilly through Skyhold's walls, signifying their return to their respective duties. As usual, a small circle of dread spiraled in Cullen's stomach as his gaze fell to the younger mage in front of him, not failing to catch the minute look of despair distort his features before it was quickly replaced with a companionable smile, as if it were never there in the first place. 

"Well, I suppose there is always time for a rematch," Dorian said with forced glee, slowly rising from his chair. Cullen followed eagerly, not daring breaking contact with him just yet. "If not to prove you are nothing but a low-down cheater taking advantage of a fair and honest poor mage looking only for an equally fair and honest game." 

Cullen rolled his eyes, but the idea of seeing Dorian again-if only for a half-hour before they were both swallowed hole by their crushing duties, had his blood pumping warmly inside him. "Well, one of course has the privileged right to be wrong, after all. Until next we meet, Lord Pavus." 

"Then I shall bid you ado," Dorian replied, giving Cullen a small bow. "Until next game, Commander." 

"Cullen," he shouted at Dorian's retreating form, swallowing the lump of dread and despair bundling in his throat as he watched Dorian slide back into the fort and out of his sight. 

Dorian Pavus was a mystery. A guarded, almost Tevinter Magister. A man nobody truly knew, despite that guilded camaraderie he'd shown most. Not to mention, currently spoken for.

Dorian Pavus was, all-encompassing, a dangerous man. 

A dangerous man that Cullen Rutherford doubtlessly _needed._

Cullen dreaded that the thought sent chills of excitement running rampant down his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera makes an indirect but important appearance in this chapter, for all you fellow cheery prankster elf lovers. Just a short mention, really, but one with significant weight.
> 
> TW's:  
> *angst  
> *mentions of addiction with withdrawal  
> *humor through pure insanity

It wasn't that Cullen did not know how wrong his situation truly was. He knew better than anyone what devotion, loyalty and undeterred faith meant to someone-and while he'd never really talked to either Trevelyan nor Dorian about their relationship, he knew that neither men took the admission of love anything but carefully serious. 

That admission did nothing to make him feel any less guilty. In fact, it made him need Dorian more. 

He found himself in a poor mood of sorts, when Dorian and Trevelyan had gone somewhere on Inquisitorial business. It was not like he did not have plenty things to occupy his time; training recruits, working on the somehow still surmounting paperwork on his desk no matter how many times he'd tried depleting it's weight, or, the hardest of them all, being social with his colleagues.

Dorian Pavus, as he'd realized more now that he could not avoid his feelings for the mage, acted much as a grounding force for Cullen between struggling to hold on from the pain of his lyrium withdrawal and wearing a smile that was not forced, that did not echo the piercing headache he was trying so desperately to hide. The mere presence of Dorian near seemed but to turn pain into utter adoration for the mage, his chest feeling light and head devoid of the overbearing, constant pressure building into a tidal wave in that same spot just between his eyes. 

If anyone had told him just ten years ago that he would someday become head over heels for a mage, a _Tevinter_ mage at that, he might as well had just struck them down where they stood. He knew he'd treated mages with mistrust unfairly in the past, and his time working for the Inquisition was proof enough of his devotion to amend that, however he felt as if he was somewhat justified in his guarded stoicism against them. It would be in everyone's best interest now, at least, to be wary and distant with mages given the state of the world and how easily they may become prey to possession.

Where Cullen would normally have just felt even more wariness toward him but a short time ago, with that dangerous thought in mind, he did nothing but worry for Dorian each time he left Skyhold's walls. He knew Trevelyan was a good man, a smart man, but would he have thoughts just like Cullen? Would he refuse to smite the demon before it had the opportunity to do that itself? Dorian Pavus was a strong-willed, independent man, but even the most in-control mages could fall prey in times like this. 

Worrying about Dorian being gone longer than a trip to Redcliffe and back should have taken did nothing to lessen Cullen's workload. 

He hadn't even noticed Dorian was missing until he'd missed their regularly scheduled game of chess. Dorian was never a man Cullen had known to be late, even though Cullen felt Dorian would find that as a good opportunity to brag about how fashionable he is. As seconds ticked by, staring at the empty seat in front of him with fast-building anticipation, Cullen simply could not take the apprehension anymore and not even a minute into being alone, tore through the castle in search of _his_ -of the mage. It was then when he had came almost storming into the library chamber where Dorian usually enjoyed spending his time that Leliana had given him a knowing glance and told him that he and Trevelyan had taken a trip to Redcliffe on personal business and may not be back until tomorrow. 

_'Personal business?' He had asked, and Leliana only gave a solemn nod, her eyes a peculiarly somber shade of blue._

_'Personal business, as in I cannot say precisely why they have gone.' Her head tilted slightly as her overly annoying level of perception picked up on Cullen's normally well-hidden despair. 'The Inquisitor is with him, Commander. He is in safe hands.'_

_Cullen bit back his tongue before he could blurt that perhaps his hands could provide more security, instead giving a firm nod. 'I see. Thank you for your time, Leliana.'_

_'Cullen?' She had asked him just before he'd turned and began heading down the stairs. He turned toward her to see her wearing the most serious expression he'd ever seen the other wear steadying all her features. 'I mean no disrespect to the Inquisitor, but Dorian may also need **you**. Once they return.'_

_Cullen felt as if all air had been forcefully ripped from his throat, rendering him speechless as he only nodded once, ducking his head away like some humiliated child and making his swift escape toward his office. Solas had asked him something, or maybe scolded him for hastily pushing himself past him, but he could do nothing in his state but offer a wave at the murmuring before crashing through the door leading to his office._

Which then lead Cullen to his current state. His own confusion, mixed with humiliation, mixed with anger at himself for not being able to push these feelings away, primarily all jumbled together with genuine worry for Dorian, left him a sodding, pain-wracked mess, familiar whispers heard distantly reverberating through his head informing him of the one true substance that could make all these feelings go away. That could make him better. 

Cullen had not taken a drought of lyrium since he had left the Order to join the Inquisition. It had been months now. Now, what with Templars and Mages alike working for the Inquisition receiving a steady supply, he was utterly surrounded by the very thing that threatened to ruin him everywhere he turned. A concerned recruit that had once caught him in a bad state, had secretly snatched a small vial away from a recent supply shipment and brought it to him in confidante. Cullen wanted to be disgusted, to throw the recruit out on her ass and file a report for thievery, but he knew that she was only trying to help and that she had no idea the true complexity of Cullen's situation.

He also could not ignore the wash of relief flowing through his body as he glared at the glowing blue vial in her hands, every pulsating shimmer of light echoing whispers of indignant need through his ears. 

He had accepted the vial. 

He had not used it, instead leaving it secured in one of his drawers in his desk. He thought it a better idea to keep the thing locked away, only showing when the withdrawal symptoms threatened to choke the very life from him, where he can easily hold the vial in his hands. Listen instead of partaking in the sweet promises of relief and stability it whispered to him, lulling him to a calm enough state where he could find a few hours of undisturbed sleep.

He also tried using it as a symbol of his strength and perseverance. To have something he'd used almost religiously as a lifeline for him not a handful of months back, but still to this day have not used, so close to him without so much as lifting the thing close to his face? He'd be seen as a prophet of sorts, a symbol other struggling lyrium addicts could look to to prove that to want is not to need, and that they need only to try.

But now, with each and every bad thought racking through his brain, the lull towards the offending vial coating his desk, nay, his entire room in a sick blue sheen, he could not find it in himself to ignore the treacherous desire looming over him like a shroud. Thus, he'd somehow found the sheer strength to lift himself from cradling his knees to his chest on his bed despite the pure agony the movement caused in both his head and stomach, legs like noodles as he climbed slowly down the ladder, rung-by-rung, unwavering and decisive glance stuck still on the desk as he stumbled, foot in front of the other, leaning one hand for support on the desk, and-

And it leaned heavily to one side under his weight.

He stalled, the blemish halting all previous passions as he studiously tried to find whatever was causing his desk to dare be so offending to his regular perfect nature, growing even more frustrated as the seconds ticked by with no success, all focus now on his current task. Previous betrayal of his own self completely disregarded, as if it were not there at all.

"Commander," his regular running recruit sounded his arrival as he stepped closer into his office. "I've been sent to inform you-what are you doing?"

Cullen glared daggers at the recruit, and probably looked as disheveled and frankly insane as he felt if the look he was getting back from the recruit was anything to go by. He pointed determinedly at him, then to the other end of the desk. "You, quickly. Come over here and help me lift this thing up."

The recruit halted, wavering in his step as if deciding whether moving the desk was really all the help the great Commander needed, clearing his throat. "Comman-"

"Now!" Cullen hissed, and the recruit magically materialized at the other side of the desk as soon as the word had left Cullen's lips, sharing in the grunt of effort as both men worked to lift the desk and set it carefully on it's side. As soon as the desk was down, Cullen was down on his hands and knees, patting religiously on the ground for whatever invisible culprit dare inconvenience him. 

"Ser," the recruit whispered, voice an object of sheer terror and trepidation as he watched his commander go mad before his very eyes, "are you certain you're alright?"

Cullen only gave a short huff of affirmation that he'd heard him, patting and sliding his gloved fingers against the stone floor until finally, _finally,_ the fabric of his gloves snagged against something hard. "Ah-hah! There you are, you slimy little bastard," Cullen whooped victoriously as he held the thing up to the light streaking into his office from the window behind them. In his hands was a single, rounded circle of metal looking much like a coin, just much larger. Whatever it's true nature was, Cullen didn't care as he stood quickly, rushing to his door and tossing the maker-besotted thing over the battlements. "Now that that's dealt with," he mumbled, gesturing for the recruit looking very much as if they were about to soil themselves from pure panic to help him reset his desk. He numbly did, and Cullen reveled in the way that his desk was again firm and perfect against the ground. He laughed gleefully, reaching over and patting his recruit gratefully on the back. "Now then, what exactly did you come retrieve me for?"

"Uhm," Cullen saw the force at which his throat muscles constricted against the recruit's gulp, "Lady Leliana sent me to you. The Inquisitor and Ser Pavus have returned to Skyhold, and she believed you may want to know this."

A strange mixture of dread and relief pillowed low in Cullen's gut, and he nodded quickly. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Reever." The recruit, Reever, nodded, taking that as his invitation to flee, but Cullen called his attention back just before he'd made it to the door. "You wouldn't have-happened to see Ser Pavus when he returned?" Upon the recruit nodding, Cullen became even more aware. "He did not appear to be-different in any way, did he?"

"Well," Reever swallowed slowly, tilting his head. "Now that you mention it, he definitely seemed less-showy than usual. He seemed rather, despondent. Sad, even." Reever's eyes narorwed quizzingly at the Commander as his eyes seemed to widen at the admission. "Is something wrong with Ser Pavus, Commander?"

" _Maker, I hope not,_ " Cullen muttered under his breath, looking back at Reever with a newfound sense of purpose as he waved him away. "Thank you again, Reever. Please give Leliana my thanks, as well."

Cullen barely waited for the recruit to leave before he was bounding out his door, toward Dorian's private chambers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's truly ironic about it all is that I See You by Missio came on as I was writing this LMAO


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye y'all, let me know how I'm doing down in them comments if you could! Silence is rather scary and I have no idea if you guys are actually enjoying this or ending the chapters by coating your eyes in bleach.  
> **(OOF DOES NOT CONDONE THE SPILLAGE OF BLEACH INTO EYEBALLS OR FRANKLY ANY CREVICES OF THE BODY. OOF LOVES YOU ALL AND WANTS YOU TO BE HEALTHY, HAPPY, AND SAFE)**
> 
> Also I'm just gonna put a little disclaimer up here: I've got absolutely no beef with the Inquisitor and I hope I don't make it seem like any of you should, either. My little gay Trevelyan is a bundle of joy and life and he's lovely, I just think there are a lot more differences between this Trevy and Dorian than there should be similarities. Some relationships thrive from this, but this one just...doesn't.

"Dorian," Trevelyan's voice, unsure and frankly _scared_ sounded from somewhere above his bed. "Dorian, talk to me."

"There truly is nothing you missed to be discussed, Inquisitor." Dorian said, ignoring the wince of pain from the Inquisitor as Dorian deliberately chose to not use his name. "I'm only sorry you had to see any of it in the first place. Or moreso, that you had to leave at the best part."

Shuffling came from beside him, and Dorian felt as Trevelyan hovered over Dorian like an overbearingly warm fur coat in the sunny afternoon breeze of Minrathous, and he wanted nothing but to leave it's uncomfortable embrace but he couldn't find the will inside of him to move, much less stand. 

"Is this about what I said when-"

"No," Dorian said flatly. When Trevelyan and Dorian were ambushed by none other than Dorian's father-a primary reason why Dorian had fled to the south (using his joining the Inquisition as a convenient but meaningful all the same technicality)-neither one of them had truly known how to react. At the beginning, Trevelyan had assumed Dorian had run out on his father, every sense of stability he had just on a whim, which was cruel albeit and stung, however it was only fair he assume. It's not like Dorian had been very forthcoming with much of anything, much less this. Dorian sighed back into the present, giving the young little concerned whelp the grace of facing him as he tried suffocating himself with his own pillow. "No, Max, you are not the one I am mad at."

Dorian would have possibly chuckled at the way Max seemed to physically deflate in front of him at the assurance, were his situation different. For now, he could only offer a small, ridiculously fake tilt of his lips before looking anywhere but toward him. "So, your father, then?" Trevelyan whispered, and for his part seemed genuinely concerned even with the relief evident in his expression as he sunk to sit on the empty space provided on Dorian's bed. 

Dorian sighed heavily, eyes closing on their own volition as he slowly shook his head. "I-" he paused, huffing a breath of incredulity. _Did_ he hate his father? He's sure that if he truly did, it would be incredibly justified and he was pretty certain most everyone would agree with that sentiment, but the word 'hate' was especially heavy, much so to be a word passed around so lightly. He supposed that the best answer he could come up with was that he _had,_ at one time, hated his father. He'd hated him enough that he was perfectly content in the idea of never seeing him again. But he could not ignore nor deny the feeling of pitiful longing, even familiar tingles of pride and warmth threatening to overcome the paralyzing cold of despair, all battling for control in his body when he'd heard his father's voice again, saw his face for the first time in months. It was a son reuniting with his estranged father, a man he'd once felt he could and would sacrifice anything just to make him smile at him like he used to. 

And besides, it's not like Dorian Pavus to dare give someone else all the credit, anyway. He knew exactly who he really despised. 

"No," he whispered shortly, eyes still closed against that searing emotional glare he felt Trevelyan fixing him with. "Yes." He sighed, opening his eyes but still gluing them to the stone ceiling above him. "A little bit of both, naturally. But right now, he's not the one I'm most upset with." 

That insinuation was one that could have gone without being said. Trevelyan was a smart, perceptive man, and he'd picked up on those undertones quicker than Dorian had even expected. For all his joy and his exuberance however, Trevelyan was still young. And, particularly, inexperienced with the woes of life thrown into the mix here and there. While he may sometimes make an effort to see through a different lense, he never truly understood what it meant to grieve or work through hardships on his own. Dorian did not fault him for this-everyone faces challenges in their life at some point, after all. But right now, right here, Trevelyan could not be what Dorian needed. And they both knew it.

"I-you-Dorian, you a great man, a lovely man, strong and...and I'm not helping, am I?" The pitiful and dejected sigh Trevelyan let out stung Dorian, and he wanted to reach out a comforting hand but really, all parts of him just felt too numb to move at the moment. "I'm sorry, Dorian. I wish I had all the answers, but I just don't know what to do." 

"It's okay," Dorian said automatically. And it was, but it wasn't, either. He understood Max was trying his best, but he also understood that not every wound could be healed by bottomless apologies. "I just want to sleep, if that's alright." 

Trevelyan paused, eyes a dejected shade of brown and Dorian honestly did feel bad, but there were far too many "bad feelings" invading his head that he didn't act on this one. He merely watched with half-lidded eyes as Trevelyan kept his eyes toward the ground as he lifted himself from Dorian's bed, nodding slightly as he turned his back to him. "Of course, I-I'll leave you alone to..." Dorian winced at the small tear in Trevelyan's remarkably deep voice, "to, uhm, you know." 

Dorian sighed solemnly, eyes fluttering closed as he parted his lips. "Max," he drawled, slow and apologetic as he tried to hide the pure exhaustion from his voice. 

"No, Dorian. It's alright, really. I'm just gonna g-Commander?" 

Dorian's eyes shot open, stony stare going toward his door and speak of the devil, Commander Cullen was standing on the other side of the door, face redder than a sheet no matter how fruitlessly he tried to hide it. He had an incapacitating air of humiliation to him, like he'd just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, like he didn't belong here and was just realizing that, until his eyes trailed over to Dorian, despondent and emotionlessly laying dormant in his bed and that look turned to one of confusion, sadness in a way that was much more a comfort to Dorian than the pity he did not want. The look Cullen was giving him now, made him feel as though Cullen understood without actually knowing a thing-a look not fronted with pity, as Trevelyan had given him all the way back to Skyhold and was still giving him now. A creeping warmth began filtering through his body from the soles of his feet as he held that steadying gaze for as long as he could before Trevelyan made the first offending gesture to break it by speaking. 

"Commander? Are you alright?" 

Cullen blinked, breaking that gaze of his and Dorian felt like Cullen had just ripped a piece of him away and stowed it into his pocket haphazardly as those golden amber marvels left him. "I-yes, I apologize, Inquisitor. My timing is-incredibly lackluster. You've both just arrived home from your..ordeal," Dorian raised his eyebrow at the oversimplification-did Cullen know what had happened? Did Cullen think _less_ of Dorian for that? He couldn't ignore the bottomless pit forming inside him at the thought, the feeling of his breaths shuddering. He realized then that that was absolutely the last thing Dorian Pavus could ever want. "I-well-I do apologize. The work of an Inquisitor never sleeps, I suppose, and I was...summoned here for a report. You weren't in your quarters, so I thought to check for you here. And I, um," when Cullen's hand came to scratch nervously at the back of his neck and he wouldn't made eye contact with Max, Dorian knew he was lying. He'd picked up on Cullen's little ministrations, the times where he'd let that uptight, perfect image of his slip and his human would show. They entirely enthralled Dorian, whenever they occured. Of course, Maxwell, as oblivious and trusting as he was, seemed to be hanging on to every word. Poor boy. "I see you two must be exhausted from your trip. Please, accept my apologies and have a wonderful rest of you night."

"Ah, wait, Cullen. Let me walk with you?" Trevelyan asked, not even sparing Dorian a glance as he exited his room and Dorian decided he probably deserved that. 

But there wasn't room to think about that, too. The desolate bitterness of Cullen's tone left Dorian's thoughts into frenzy. It was obvious he wasn't here on managerial duty, obvious to Dorian at least. How would Cullen have assumed the Inquisitor was here, and if his real goal was honestly just that, then what exactly did that look entail? Perhaps Dorian was a bit too emotional for his liking, perhaps he wasn't in complete control over his vulnerability given recent events, but Dorian was not a blind man. And he most definitely was not stupid. He may not have had a very concrete show of love ever in his life beyond mere pleasure, but he knew himself that that expression on Cullen's face was a mirror of his own whenever he'd made the mistake of letting himself fall for those not willing to catch him. 

Cullen may be the overly careful one, one to take risks only when they've been carefully examined, and a betting men Cullen was not. 

Luckily for him, Dorian was never one to shy away from risky ventures. Dorian would give his very life way for things he wanted. And Cullen? He'd give his very soul.

He sunk deeper into his pillows, eyes fluttering shut on their own volition as he let his mind wander from conscious luster to unconscious desire.

And if a desire demon so happened to take a visit into his dreams wearing Cullen's features? 

Well, who's to say Dorian was not permitted a little fun?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If y'all are really into indie pop music like I am and need another song to add to your collection, Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea by Missio is 🤤  
> I've literally never heard it before but I had pandora going on during this chapter and MMM


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm just not happy." He said solemnly, the deep, shaky tone of his voice startling Cullen into full attention. "I don't think he is, either." 

"I-well," Cullen faltered, not daring to open his mouth again in fears of saying something irreparably stupid. Cullen liked Trevelyan, plain and simple. He was rather young, yet matured well beyond his years. For being literally forced into the role of Inquisitor through actions not his to blame, he's done an exemplary job at being a sound, kind, intelligent, and caring authority figure. Cullen highly doubted he could be as equally powerful and graceful a leader, if he were in Trevelyan's position.

Not to mention, Trevelyan was quite simply a good friend to Cullen.

Trevelyan, while expression still twisted somberly, let the corner of his lips curve up slightly at Cullen's hesitance. "It's okay." He sighed deeply, walking dangerously close to the edge of the battlements as he looked over and Cullen had to refrain from pulling his arm roughly back as he leaned his upper body further over the unsupported stone pillars, gazing out at the crowd of Inquisition's workers, refugees, and all those in between. He still kept a divided weight between his feet should the need be he catch the oblivious young man. "I know I sprung that on you. Certainly not the most regular topic of our conversations, of course." 

"No, no it's-" Cullen sighed, collecting himself and vehemently trying to ignore the feeling of selfish hope bellowing in his chest. "When did you-why did the two of you?" 

Cullen was absolutely helpless in the situation, but Trevelyan still somehow understood his point, smirking slightly again before sighing and turning around, effortlessly and rather recklessly, if Cullen had any say about it, lifted his body up to rest precariously on the top of a stone support. Cullen did not even make an attempt to hide his apprehension, lunging forward and snatching the Inquisitor's elbow as if it would steady him. When Trevelyan looked down at Cullen's hand and then looked back up, confused but still appreciative smile on his features, Cullen hastily backed away. 

"It's-rather complicated." Trevelyan began, tongue flicking purposely across the insides of his cheeks as he wore a thoughtful expression. "I assume we both were going into this with what we perceived were good intentions. There was a certain pull between us. Something that would both attract us to eachother, something we impulsively acted on, but also something that created friction-utter repellent from eachother. Maybe, in the short few weeks near the beginning, we both believed that our love was significant and that it was more than just mere attraction. But, it became more and more blatantly obvious how startlingly opposite we were the further along we went." Trevelyan shrugged despondently, staring at an enormously captivating crack in the stone floor near Cullen's foot. "I can't, be there for Dorian in the way he needs me to be. Nor he me. I wish to the gods above that were untrue, but sometimes things you want are just that. Wants, and not necessities. I love Dorian, and I truly believe he loves me, as well. But I think we may have loved the idea of the both of us, and never gave much thought to how real-world situations would hinder the ideal."

Cullen found his _own_ vision gravitating toward that tree branch of cracks, reverberating through the stone and zoning his focus as he swayed nervously on his feet. There were many things he could have said in this situation. He could have apologized to Trevelyan for his hurt, he could have assured him he was not alone in the grief of the revelation, or, even better yet, he could have said nothing at all. The latter would have been immensely favorable to what he actually said. 

"Does Dorian know how you feel?" 

Trevelyan's features masked those of confusion, then heated realization in those perceptive shiny blues of his, acceptance in that sad, yet somehow still encouraging smile he wore before he lifted himself from his perch on the battlements, standing tall in front of Cullen as he gripped Cullen's fur-covered shoulder plates with a comforting hold. "You were never sent for a report." 

There was no question in that question. It was a tone of bare understanding and undeniable approval. Still, Cullen felt as his heartbeat rapidly quickened, his cheeks blushing a disgusting deep red as he kept his glance down at Trevelyan's boot buckles. "I, well I was just, uhm-" 

And then, where Cullen might have expected a rightful outburst of anger from anyone else, he heard Trevelyan begin to laugh. Barely audible at first through the tidal waves of blood rushing through his ears, but then he felt as the grip still on his shoulder began to loosen, quickly morphing inyo transitions of holding and bouncing off his shoulder. The sound of his chuckle, mirthful and unbearably kind given his current situation, filtered quickly into Cullen's senses then, and he physically froze, absolutely clueless on his to react to this completely unorthodox reaction. "Cullen, it's alright. I'm not cross. I rather understand the attraction, actually. I had my suspicions long before Dorian and I became an item, after all."

Cullen's brows furrowed at the insinuation in his tone. "Suspicions?" 

Trevelyan's smirk only grew in its intensity as he regarded him with a cocky air about him. "That look you gave him when he first appeared, back at the attack at Haven? The lovestruck, pure few seconds of unadulterated passion and desire before realization sobers you and you hastily pretend it never happened? I invented that look, Cullen."

"I..'m sorry," Cullen finally breathed, not insulting Trevelyan by playing the clueless act any longer. "I did not wish for my- _impure_ thoughts to interfere. I was not even aware of them myself, until rather recently."

Trevelyan shook his head, patting Cullen's shoulder again. "You cannot pitch battles with your heart, Cullen. It will always win out in the end." Trevelyan smirked, eyes still lingering sadness but the kind of sadness well accompanied with acceptance. "I believe I have a thing or two I must discuss with Dorian. Just-" Trevelyan sighed, looking past Cullen to the cloudless blue sky above them for a rather long while before finally looking back down at him, eyes bare and thick with emotion. "Just, allow him some time, okay? Dorian's-well, you know Dorian. He doesn't deal with grief in a very traditional way. As much as you may want to comfort him immediately, you must let him believe he can rescue himself before swooping in. Alright?" 

Cullen couldn't help but chuckle at the obviously correct assumption of Dorian's character, nodding at Trevelyan and squeezing comfortingly at the cusp of the wrist still hanging on his shoulder. "Are you going to be alright?" 

Bless Trevelyan's heart then, smiling despite the raw hurt in his eyes at the intrusive question. Throat bobbing under his swallow so much Cullen could count the muscles in Trevelyan's neck, Trevelyan did the most honest thing he could do in that situation. He shook his head. "No. But I will be." He smiled again, patting Cullen's hand on his before dropping his hand to his side. "It's much more torturous than I'd care to invite into my thoughts, but it's better to be sad on your own for a while than being trapped with another where both must force themselves to be happy."

Cullen sighed, nodding. "I'm not entirely sure if you'd still be willing to take it, but if you ever need an ear-''

Trevelyan smiled gratefully, bowing his head slightly as he nodded. "Of course, Cullen. Of course." He made to move away, but startled as if just remembering something as his intense gaze fixed onto Cullen again. "For whatever it's worth, I'd choose you to make him happy well before anyone else here." 

Cullen was never good with these kinds of back-handed compliments. Which is why, after the words slipped from Trevelyan's lips, he only stuttered, hands scratching rigorously at the skin on the back of his neck as he let out a strangled gasp. He must have been quite the sight, beet red and gasping for words as if he were gasping for air. 

Still, Trevelyan mercifully decided it was best not to comment on it, shooting him one last sad smile before turning and walking away back in the direction of Dorian's room. 

Leaving Cullen alone, head spinning and only one true, coherent thought sticking out from the tornado raging haphazardly through his mind. 

Now, and only now, was his only chance, and he was more than willing to bet everything on Dorian Pavus-his most selfish and only need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these chapters are short, but I want to dedicate them to a single POV each time-either Cullen or Dorian reacting to events as they appear.


	5. Chapter 5

Cullen stared pitifully at the chair across him, body as hollow and empty as the chair. He hadn't gone directly to Dorian after Trevelyan had had that little 'chat,' knowing quickly of said chat through rumors and careless whispers circulating around the training grounds. He'd scolded most every pair of lips even uttering Dorian's name, putting out an air of Dorian's well-deserved respect for the recruits to believe, but really any time he'd heard of Dorian's name from anyone else when it wasn't coming from Cullen's lips and Cullen's lips alone, sparked an uncomfortable burning fire from somewhere deep inside him. Especially when that name accompanied some foul slander of the character nobody else knew. 

And maybe Cullen didn't know much about Dorian himself, hardly more than the recruits got to see in all honesty, but Cullen _knew_ Dorian Pavus was an exceptional mage, a thralling source of exuberant conversation on an otherwise uneventful day, and, even more than that, a genuinely kind man. 

And if Cullen Rutherford could sense all of that from mere chess games three days a week, then the recruits certainly had no legs to stand on. 

He'd done as the Inquisitor requested, both out of respect and admiration for him, and also out of abject _fear._

He knew that he _wanted_ to comfort Dorian, his thoughtless venture toward Dorian's quarters those handful of weeks ago when they'd returned to Skyhold from that 'personal' business Cullen still had no idea about proof enough of that, he just didn't know how. 

And when he had skidded to a halt in front of Dorian's door that day, tidal waves of spiking nerves flowing rampant through his body, he realized he had absolutely no idea what to say. Nothing would have been able to stop him from pounding down Dorian's door at the mere mention he was distressed, but what would happen when he was standing there like some crazed buffoon, arm adorned with several new splinters to add to that sodding image? 

Still, he had felt that that was wholely unimportant, something that would come to him as naturally and thoughtlessly as the drive to get him here had, and he'd lifted his fist to knock against the hardwood of Dorian's chambers, when-

When the Inquisitor had yanked the door open, eyes bloodshot-which Cullen had first assumed was from sheer exhaustion until their candid talk on the battlements-and somewhat puffy glanced up at Cullen's widening slightly in question. He'd asked Cullen what he was doing there, and he heard himself making some ridiculous excuse to that, but he wasn't entirely sure what he was saying. All he could think about, every bit of his focus was on Dorian Pavus, and the dejected, lost, confused glare that made his usually spectacular, swimming light grey eyes a dismal, ugly black color. And he knew then that he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Dorian and not let go, but the Inquisitor was there. The Inquisitor would know how to comfort Dorian, would be the only one able to lift his spirits because Trevelyan _was_ Dorian's only one. 

And so he'd left Dorian that day, hearing a dramatic _snap_ somewhere in his chest as he forced his gaze away from Dorian and bid them a good night. Lest it be known to them that that good night, as innocent as it had sounded, was an immensely painful admittance of a goodbye from Cullen. 

Cullen knew he was not a betting man. 

But now, what with things transpiring the way they had, with the pure and unadulterated acceptance that he would die and kill for that blasted mage, he still wanted nothing more than to be there for Dorian-if not for words of comfort because Cullen was absolutely horrid with words, but as a constant in Dorian's sight. Some strong, standing force he could lean on whenever time and emotion bid it, he would do it. He would do it for Dorian Pavus, and he realized this now, sitting alone around that blasted chess board that still had the pieces set from Cullen's final and surely expected win, that blasted victory leaving a foul taste in his mouth, heart beating against the seeding heat radiating against it. He was not ashamed of this feeling anymore, not as he had been when the feelings had first surfaced. He was not angry with the invisible beings cursing him so ironically so, as he once had been. Cullen knew, without a second doubt or insecurity plaguing him, that he loved Lord Dorian Pavus, that he _belonged_ with Lord Dorian Pavus. 

The only thing hindering him from latching hismelf to Dorian's physical figure now was the stubbornness of Dorian's sense of self-preservation. If not for that, Cullen probably would have followed Trevelyan back to his room those several days ago. 

But now, now he must wait. He must wait until the very last minute, until Dorian began to crumble in his weight against the perceived failure of self, the crushing weight of despair and loneliness-loneliness that was Dorian's one true folly, the one thing that threatened to kill Dorian from the inside, completely demoralize him, change the very being that was the mighty Dorian Pavus-

Maker sod it all, Cullen needed a drink.

* * *

Fate was silly. Sometimes dangerous, sometimes ironic, sometimes innocent. 

And sometimes so obvious that it was entirely idiotic. 

He hadn't noticed it at first, what with the crushing sense of guilt infecting his thoughts and sickening his mind, and only sensed it when he'd already downed half his ale-

Dorian was near. 

He turned his head toward where he'd felt a sharp tingling in his skin, and sitting there, leaning back against the back of the chair and eyes closed, was none other than Dorian Pavus himself. There was a single tankard sitting delicately on the table in front of him, but by the faraway and dazed expression on Dorian's features, Cullen had a distinct feeling that tankard had been filled well beyond once by now. 

Cullen also knew that Dorian knew he was there, as well. His eyes may have been closed, but his head was titled tellingly toward Cullen, eyebrows raised slightly and body arching near him as well. If Cullen didn't know any better, he'd thing Dorian was feeling that unexplainable pull toward Cullen, as well. He wouldn't leave fantastical thinking to chance however, giving Cabot a knowing look before slowly standing from his stool, making slow and deliberately silent steps to where Dorian was sat. 

There was a strange, paralyzing few moments where neither of them said a thing, it even felt to Cullen as though time had stopped around them as he gauged Dorian's state. Obviously disheveled, crusted tear steaks down his cheeks as if they'd been there for days, and, much to Cullen's horror, unkempt hair, mustache, and a profounding lack of the kohl Dorian would never dare go out without. As humorous as it may have seemed to some perfect stranger, or even Cullen were they not in this situation, it physically pained Cullen tremendously to see him in this state.

"Dorian," Cullen finally broke the silence, trying to hide the desperation from sneaking into his undertones. Slowly, Dorian barely cracked open a single eye, glaring at Cullen questioningly. Cullen felt his palms beginning to sweat under the scrutinizing gaze, squeezing his fingers into his palms before swallowing. "Would you be against some company?"

Dorian opened both eyes now, still half-lidded as he gazed at the whole of Cullen, tilting his head to the side as he pursed his lips. "You're always wearing those ridiculous gloves, Commander."

"I-" well, Cullen certainly wasn't expecting _that._ "What?" 

"And that grevious fur coat of yours. I realize we're trapped in the mountains, but I wouldn't believe it for a second if you tried to tell me you were not born wrapped in the thing." 

Cullen, as confused and taken aback as he was, allowed Dorian a small smirk. "If I promise to take them off, would you allow me a seat?" 

Dorian, bless his adherence to character, looked as if he was contemplating the offer studiously before finally rolling his eyes, gesturing his silent approval. Cullen smiled appreciatively, and before a second thought, stripped himself almost religiously of his 'offending' fur coat, sliding his hands out of his thick leather gloves and stowing them in his coat's inner pockets before halting at the rather astonished look on Dorian's face. 

"What?" Cullen asked, confident undertones to match the smirk he wore while regarding Dorian's expression. "Assuming I'm not a man of my word are you, Ser Pavus?"

"I would never accuse you of not taking your words as seriously as you take your position, Commander." Dorian said, and it was as serious as it was lilting. "I just have to admit, I thought you would be-smaller." 

Cullen sank into the seat across Dorian, lifting an inquisitive eyebrow at the gesture. "Smaller?" 

Dorian shrugged, and Cullen could tell then how intoxicated he was by how slow and sluggish his reactions were. Sober Dorian Pavus was rather quick-tongued, doubly so in physicality. Still, he wouldn't fault the man for grieving, no matter how uncomfortable this sight of him made Cullen. "Excuse me for saying so, but I half expected you to be a scrawny little man under all that imposing fur. That it made a statement, an overcompensation, if you will," Dorian practically purred as his lips tilted into a smirk of his own. "But, to my dismay, you're just as large and imposing as you were with the dramatic garnishes, if not more." 

"You find me imposing?" Cullen asked, letting himself have a little flirtatious fun selfishly. 

"It certainly makes you quite easy to spot in the crowd, Commander." Dorian returned the flirtatious comment with even more heat, because even incredibly drunk, Dorian Pavus was more an expert at this game than anyone Cullen knew. "Besides that constant, albeit unintentional, air of superiority, of course." Dorian added quickly as if he were shrugging off the existence of their game played just seconds prior. "You're an alright man once you allow people to get to know you, Cullen, but you would probably have less people fearing you if you smiled every once in a while." 

The Inquisitor had told him of this. How an acute part of Dorian's grieving process was to point out the obvious flaws of others in an attempt to get the attention off of him. In a way, make others as miserable as him because he didn't like being so lonely in his inescapable despair. 

Normally, Cullen would let this kind of thing slide. 

But Cullen Rutherford had come to realize that one of the many things he'd sacrificed in pursuit of Dorian Pavus was his patience. 

"I've missed you at our last few chess matches, Dorian." Cullen said with insinuation deep in his tone, and Cullen watched as Dorian's lithe fingers curled into the wood of his tankard, perfect tanned lips souring into a frown as he kept his gaze down. "I realize I am impossible to beat, but I would not think you'd be practicing on your own for so long." He resisted the urge to reach over and clasp Dorian's hand in his, from coaxing his cold fingers under Dorian's chiseled, incredibly handsome jaw to lift his eyes up to meet him, instead merely tapping the table next to him in an attempt to get his attention. "Would you be willing to speak about that?"

"Please, Commander, do not make me say it," Dorian hissed, venom lacing his words as his face twisted into two parts anger, three parts profound sadness that Cullen would never be prepared to see. "I'm quite certain you've heard everything about me from all over Skyhold by now."

Cullen sighed sadly, fighting with Dorian to keep eye contact as he began to lean forward, bare hand resting just inches from Dorian's, and he hoped the warmth and security burning at Cullen's being at the mere proximity of eachother was reaching Dorian, too. "I care not for their petty squabbles and mindless slanders, Dorian. I care for _you."_

That seemed to alert Dorian into attention, a short gasp escaping his lips as those eyes, slowly regaining their original beautiful grey's came to meet him, astonished and questioning. "Well, I must say that your timing is certainly something to be left desired, Commander." 

Cullen smirked slightly, despite the nerves swimming painfully in his gut. He had to say it now, and whether that was more for Dorian's sake or his own, he did not care. The need was pushing at such force between the both of them, and to ignore that and leave Dorian stranded and thinking layer of what might have been that night was a simple disservice Cullen wasn't willing to make. Swallowing slowly, he leaned his hand closer until it was resting atop Dorian's. He felt Dorian's fingers twitch slightly at the contact, but Dorian did not flinch away. Cullen took that as an invitation to go further forward, and he slowly flipped Dorian's hand around, first etching nonsense patterns into Dorian's warm, incredibly soft skin before lacing his one fingers tentatively through his. 

"Have you-ever considered..maybe, seeing other people?''

"Andraste bless my god-fearing Commander, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" He leaned forward against the table, and the spectacle of a specimen so eloquently graceful to an impossibly high standard fumbling his words-using a collapsing table for support lest he fall flat on his moustache, was almost a comfort for him in this paralyzingly aggravating situation he'd found himself in. 

Dorian came to stop mere inches from his face, an intoxicating smell of various spices, lavender, and Fereldan Ale characterizing his aura as he stared-those unbearably irresistible cloudy grey eyes holding an almost terrifying gaze on him like Cullen were the only man in the room-the only man in all of Skyhold at that. 

"Because-" Dorian leaned forward, moustache tickling against Cullen's jawline as his hot breaths hitting against the cuff of his shoulder left numbing tingles through his spine, "because I see you, _Cullen._ " Erratic chills sprouted through every surface of skin at the way Cullen's name finally gracefully fell in a melodic him through Dorian's lips. Dorian, smirk on his face that maybe Cullen couldn't see but could most definitely feel, leaned even further forward until those lips ghosted just above his ear, mere heat radiating from his body catching Cullen breathless and helpless under that intense closeness. 

"I see you."

And maker bless it all, Cullen could not hold himself together anymore as he felt as if a damn had burst inside him, and before he even had to think, he was leaning his head backward, catching only a small sight of Dorian's allured and surprised eyes as he leaned forward again, hungrily latching his chapped and scared lips against Dorian's unbearably warm, smooth, delicate, _perfect_ pair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanna know what I was listening to throughout this chapter?  
> Brittney Spears's version of Tom's Diner 😂


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aye, smut warning.  
> That's it. That's all this is. If you're worried that Dorian's drunk and Cullen's decidedly not, that gets resolved in the midst.  
> K. Have fun reading this, or leave your hate and disgust in the comments because I accept views from all walks of this earth, after all.  
> Love you <3
> 
> OH, and there's translations for the "Tevene" used in the end notes.

"Dorian," Cullen whimpered breathlessly as he was again slammed bodily against the wall just inside Dorian's chambers.

Dorian only made a slight huff in acknowledgment that he heard Cullen, pawing hungrily at the many, many buckles adorning Cullen's frame. Somehow, the fur coat had materialized back on Cullen's body much to Dorian's inconvenience, and _hell_ was it hard to take off. 

Cullen let out a sharp, pleased gasp when Dorian's lips came to suck absently at Cullen's neck as he worked studiously at Cullen's many layers of clothing. Cullen should probably be helping, he'd realized, but he was far too stunned immobile under his own pleasure to remember how to breathe, much less move. "D-Dorian," he began again, and Dorian groaned distastefully this time. 

_"Kaffas. Tace, et spuria vitulamina variis."_

Cullen had absolutely no idea what Dorian said, but did he certainly _love_ the way it felt when he said it. There was something about the way that Dorian said things, even in Cullen's tongue, that sent chills vibrating through every inch of Cullen's body, setting endearingly warm in his stomach. Left a sweet taste in his mouth and a head that could be spinning on its axis for the way it felt. His whimpers were certainly not assuaged by the distinct feeling of Dorian's length, already half-hard as it brushed against Cullen's upper thigh. His breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut on their own volition as he leaned his head back against the cold stone of the wall Dorian had pinned him against. "Dorian, we shouldn't-"

"Shut _up,_ Cullen," was all Dorian had to say to seal Cullen's lips shut. The dark, commandeering, daring undertones of his voice made Cullen's knees weak, resolve crumbling steadfast the longer he was forced to stare into those beautiful greys-much like the lasting ashes of a fire, tossed up in the breeze and coating the sky above in an irresistible metallic sheen. The feeling of _him_ pressed up against him. It was more than enough to turn Cullen putty in those perfectly practiced, elegant hands of his. "I'm much more than practiced about the in's and out's of drunken fumbling, Cullen," he began again, eyes turning up to leer over Cullen with a determined, hard glance, " _this_ is much more than some ill-considered night after drinking."

"But, if I was to take advantage-" Cullen began, but his breath was cut short by the press of Dorian's lips hard against his, gentle but demanding as his tongue circled Dorian's lips like a serpent, conquering the depths of Cullen's mouth, hungry, consuming, pulling Cullen into his warmth like he'd mastered the balance of gravity despite Cullen's overbearing urge to crumble at the knees. When he pulled away, the air was hot and suffocating, breath hitting against Cullen's face in waves and he wasn't sure who's breaths were who's as he felt the time freeze around him, lips tingling from the sheer force of the kiss, and the innate desire for more. "I'll shut up, just don't stop."

And then those beautiful, plump lips curled into the most mesmerizing smile Cullen had ever had the absolute pleasure to witness, teeth a blinding, glistening white as they hid shrouded just under his top lip. He mutely felt as hands came to circle around his middle, forcing him off the wall and then suddenly they were moving, walking, shuffling as they tried desperately to keep their hands off each other until they made it to the bed. Cullen felt as he was practically thrown down against the mattress, feeling of soft silk dancing under his fingers and caressing them in a warm embrace as Dorian forced himself free of his boots and buckled armor, soulful greys glancing longingly over Cullen before climbing onto his bed, taking his towering position stretched over Cullen. His eyes had lost their lustful sheen from whence they had first fumbled lazily over their lips at the beginning, now downcast with genuine care and concern as he breathed slowly through parted lips, lifting one hand and slowly tracing long lines against Cullen's chiseled jawline. "Is this your first time, _Decorus?"_

Cullen felt his toes curl against the silk sheets as Dorian's native tongue swam mercilessly through his ears again, tilting his head slightly at the question. "I-no?" Cullen was never one to brag, but he at least knew he was a decent looking guy. This certainly wasn't his first time around the bend.

Dorian blinked at him, lips curling again into that signature smirk as a small, teasing chuckle fell from his lips. "I do not mean if this was your first time having sex, Commander. I would be a fool asking something like that. I meant-" he leaned forward again, head ducking into the crook of Cullen's neck as shivers haunted the surface of his skin where Dorian's lips lingered, "is this your first time with a _man?"_

 _Oh. Oh, yes indeed, it was._ Cullen felt his heartbeat quicken, felt the fear lance through him at what he expected would be the impatient, disinterested glower Dorian would fix him when he answered, biting hard down on his lip as he sighed, looking down and nodding despondently, gulping back the regret building a large lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, Dorian. I can leave-"

Dorian stopped him short as his lithe, sensuous fingers came to rest just below the curve of Cullen's chin, slowly lifting his head to peer straight into Dorian's face-just as allured and beautiful as for, understanding and a patience Cullen wasn't sure he deserved ghosting his features as well. "Don't you dare even _think_ of getting off this bed," Dorian's eyes flashed dark in warning, moving to straddle Cullen's legs between his hips for good measure as he leaned back, hands resting gently against Cullen's bare torso as they danced lightly in etched patterns on his skin. "I'll talk you through it." His hand ghosted just above Cullen's length, already peaked in arousal and threatening to tear a whole straight through the fabric. "I'll take good care of you, Cullen."

A spike of torrid pleasure ripped through Cullen's body like a gunshot to the head as he felt Dorian rip down the waistband to his trousers, hand caressing his length gingerly, trailing in pleasant rhythms around the base as it slowly worked it's way up to the top. Cullen shuddered as he felt the pad of Dorian's thumb trace circles around his tip, a drip of precum Cullen couldn't hold back leaking out of him and landing on Dorian's finger. He blinked languidly at Dorian as his eyes leered over Cullen, a racy tilt to his lips as he slowly and purposefully dipped his thumb into his mouth, thrusting his thumb further in and out of his mouth before finally cutting poor Cullen some slack and sliding his thumb out of his mouth with a slight _pop._ Dorian retained steady eye contact with him as he leaned forward again, one hand resting on the mattress just beside Cullen's head as he slowly made his way up to Cullen's face, making it an extra point to slowly slide his hardened length against Cullen's torso. He lifted himself up slightly, leaning down and peppering Cullen's neck with kissed, tongue sliding thickly and leaving steaming trails against him as he attempted to find a sweet spot. Despite the shivering in Cullen's body when Dorian, practiced, found the spot with ease and suckled against Cullen's skin, biting hard enough to leave his neck temptingly numb, Cullen found himself giggling lightly.

Dorian halted slightly, pulling away to look at Cullen with an amused curiosity in his eyes.

"Your mustache," Cullen supplied mirthfully, finding his breath still hard to control, "it tickles."

Dorian, taken aback, paused slightly and almost ignored the throbbing of Cullen's length against him before shaking his head slightly, genuine smile contorting his lips as he let out a hearty, incredibly sexy laugh. "Maker, but aren't you a special one, Cullen Rutherford?"

Cullen felt himself smiling slightly, and maybe he had had a comeback festering in his mind, burning against his tongue ready to be let out, but every thought seemed to vanish into very thin air as soon as he felt Dorian suddenly shift, forcing himself in between Cullen's legs and before he knew it, had taken Cullen into his mouth, tongue lapping hotly against the bottom of his length. Gasping shrilly, Cullen curled his toes firmly into the mattress, hands working on their own as they found their way into Dorian's smooth locks of silk black hair, tangling his fingers in its tresses as his nails scratched into Dorian's scalp. Dorian grunted in response, hand coming to cover against the amount of length Dorian couldn't fit in his mouth, thrusting his hand up and down on the surface of Cullen's skin as he mimicked the movements of his mouth against Cullen's length. Cullen felt himself whimper each time Dorian would pull further away from his length, lifting his hips slightly off the bed in attempts to force himself further inside Dorian's lips. Dorian hummed against Cullen's dick, free hand coming up to massage his fingers gently and insufferably against Cullen's balls as he thrust himself further against him. Cullen felt himself steadily losing control, moaning pleasurably as his fingers dug further into Dorian's scalp, further, further-

the chill of Dorian's teeth sliding whether accidentally or purposefully against the top of Cullen's dick had it twitching tellingly in Dorian's mouth. "Dor-Dorian, I'm,"

He felt as Dorian nodded against him, confused when he didn't move and upon looking up, saw Dorian braced against Cullen's hips, one hand on either curve of Cullen's thighs, his dick still hanging firmly outside of Dorian's beautifully rounded lips, and that look, so determined, so assured, so damnably _beautiful-_

Cullen came quickly with a sharp, long groan, feeling as Dorian lapped the liquid into his mouth, almost greedily as he swallowed back the liquid filling his cheeks quickly. Cullen, finally spent as the last bit of cum leaked in a small trail out of his tip that Dorian quickly swiped away with his thumb. 

Cullen, limbs splayed haphazardly across the bed, arms spewed out above his head, tried desperately to blink the stars away from his vision as he felt his head, nay, his entire body, swimming on air. He felt the bed dip next to him, and when his body finally gave him the grace of sight, he saw Dorian laying on his side next to him, one hand ducked under his head as he watched Cullen with a satisfied, approving glint in his eyes. 

The guilt bottomed out quickly in his gut, teaming with still latent desire that drove him to sudden action, forcing Dorian back against the mattress as he towered over him, laying wet and sloppy but somehow still so beautiful kissed against his lips, his cheeks, his neck. Feeling Dorian's length begin to twitch against the contact, newfound confidence sent ripples through him as he looked up to Dorian with an expectant, sobering gaze. "What do you want me to do?"

Dorian smirked slightly, but bit down hard on his lips as he minutely broke eye contact with Cullen, turning his gaze and nodding to a nightstand table lying next to the bed. "In the top drawer, there is a bottle of oil. Fetch it."

Cullen followed orders just as well as if it had been another one of his job duties, leaning and pressing himself against Dorian, feeling satisfied in the pleased hum it elicited in him as he reached a lanky arm over, pulling open the drawer and fingering the rounded bottle before pulling it out, looking back to Dorian. 

"Open it," Dorian instructed, and Cullen followed orders quickly. "Now, dip your fingers in it. Coat yourself with it."

Cullen shuddered slightly under the insinuating undertones, all of this rather a foreign area for him, but certainly not something he wouldn't try. For Dorian, he would do anything. Cullen felt Dorian's eyes as him as he dipped his fingers greedily into the bottle, making a show of lathering his length slowly and carefully with the oil before finally looking up to Dorian, his cheeks flushed and eyes widened slightly as he peered back at him. "Now, I'm going to-"

"Turn over," Cullen demanded darkly, far ahead of where Dorian was eventually planning on getting. Dorian let out a short gasp at the command, but smirked seductively shortly after and, with a slight wink to Cullen, turned over on the bed. Cullen dipped his head into the nape of Dorian's neck, kissing slowly and gently against the center, leaving a trail of kisses peppered down his spine until he met Dorian's perfectly rounded, firm and soft all at the same time, ass. Laying chaste kisses against each cheek that had Dorian hissing slightly, he lightly put each of his hands on both cheeks and lightly spread them apart. He chanced a look up to the back of Dorian's head, imaging that perfectly coifed black mass of hair was his eyes as he swallowed. "Ready?" He asked darkly. 

Dorian nodded against the sheets, and Cullen could feel as his toes curled against Cullen's bare calves. "Always, _Amatus."_

And with that spoken consent, Cullen buried his length deep into Dorian, reveling in the gasp and shudders it sent through him as he gripped tightly against Dorian's hips, straddling himself against him as he began thrusting into him, a slow, methodic pattern almost as if he was scared of hurting Dorian-which he kind of was. That worry was unnecessary, of course, when Dorian mustered up enough stability to scold him, "You could go faster, Cullen. I won't break."

As if only waiting for the go-ahead, Cullen squeezed his nails further into Dorian's perfect golden skin, thrusting into him at a much faster pace than before. Dorian responded in kind to lifting his body off the bed, hands sneaking up to grip knuckle-whiteingly hard against the headboards to his bed, the most beautiful moans a man could hear filtering in Cullen's very soul against each of his thrusts. 

Cullen knew the moment Dorian was about to release, could feel it in the way his muscles began tightening, his breath quickening and his nails clawing into the wood of his headboard. Not waiting for further instruction and instead choosing to do it his way, he quickly slid his length out of Dorian and, ignoring Dorian's whine of protest, lifted Dorian so that he was laying on his side against the bed. Lifting his leg over Dorian's form, Cullen lay parallel to Dorian, scooching his body forward so that he and Dorian's lengths were pressing together, both men moaning in pleasure as their toes curled against the overstimulating warmth the contact brought. Cullen, glancing minutely at Dorian to see his eyes fluttered shut in euphoria, reached a hand down and began jerking them both off, focus primarily on Dorian as he wanted to watch the man's face as he came. 

It was a sight for the ages, when he finally felt Dorian release. His head tilted back slightly, mouth parted as his eyebrows knit together, soft moans falling from his lips as he came over Cullen's hand and front, spreading slightly against the sheet under them. Cullen sighed pleasantly as he felt Dorian's slick against him, leaning his head forward and kissing against Dorian's jaw lightly as he fought the battle to come down from the high, lying prone and heaving breaths as he stared blankly at the ceiling above him. 

Cullen finally broke their companionable closeness to retrieve a wet rag from Dorian's wash basin, coming back to a still dazed, exhausted Dorian who hadn't moved his body nor eyes an inch. Chuckling lightly, he busied himself with wiping his body and hand free of slick, reaching over and wiping Dorian clean too-the mention of who barely reacted besides a small exhale through his lips. 

Discarding of the dirty rag into Dorian's dirty laundry basket, he slowly walked back to climb on top of the bed again laying on his side and waiting for Dorian to come back down to earth.

It took a short while after he'd returned, but Dorian eventually did loll his head to the side to peer those majestic greys at him. Cullen stupidly felt a bit of self-consciousness nagging at his brain, swallowing slightly as he peered back at Dorian. "Was that-uhm.."

Dorian had enough of his senses to allow Cullen a genuine, sleepy smile, nodding his head against the mattress. "I dare say it was quite extraordinary, Commander."

"Cullen," Cullen whispered, peppering Dorian's lips with a slight kiss before leaning back, eyelids beginning to grow heavy as the high began to wear off and leaving exhaustion in it's wake. One look at Dorian told Cullen he was fighting to keep his eyes open, too. He shifted back, kicking the blanket with his bare feet until he could lean down, draping it over himself and Dorian before looking back over to his partner, clearing his throat awkwardly. "So, do we...cuddle, or?"

"I don't cuddle," Dorian said confidently, blinking slowly at the ceiling.

"Oh," Cullen said, hoping the disappointment and rejection he felt deep inside hadn't reflected in his tone.

But, of course it must have, because after Cullen had relented and closed his eyes, he heard Dorian sigh and then felt as his body pressed against his, arms wrapping around his torso and legs tangling into his, head resting in the crook of his neck.

_"S is felix ego similis tui," _ Dorian mumbled sleepily, and not long after that, his breath evened out into light snores. 

Cullen chuckled slightly, smile stuck fast on his face as he stroked his hand through Dorian's hair, feeling himself slowly following Dorian into the sweet nothings of unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaffas: regular swear word, in this im just tryna say the tevene equivalent of "for fuck's sake"  
> *yeah, I'm American. How could you tell?*
> 
> tace, et spuria vitulamina variis: hold your tongue, you incessant bastard
> 
> Decorus: beautiful (handsome)
> 
> Amatus: beloved
> 
> sis felix ego similis tui: you're lucky I like you


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone I knew told me that Cullrian shipping is disgusting.  
> Hence the keyword: "knew"
> 
> This chapter is 100% just pure fluff. I like fluff. Fluff is nice. And fluffy.

"I do not normally make a habit of this," Dorian said immediately upon waking, voice hoarse, scratchy, and intensely deep. He had woken that morning to Cullen stroking his slender fingers delicately through his hair, laying atop the curtains with feet crossed at the ankles and dressed back in his underclothes. Dorian still lay completely bare, upper body draped over Cullen's chest as he realized he had unconsciously cuddled back up to Cullen as he returned to his bed some time ago, something that made his heart pound in humiliation but also something he would never bring to attention-the way Cullen held him, his encompassing warmth and the way his fingers massaged just right against his scalp...he wouldn't make a single move to leave unless Cullen made him.

"Which part do you mean? The cuddling, or the drooling?" Cullen asked mirthfully, and Andraste bless the bravery of this man for so brazenly admitting some of Dorian's very little flaws.

"Nonsense, all of it," Dorian said, contemplating whether or not to add to the dramatic flair by extracting himself from Cullen's bear-hold, but deciding against it if only for the sheer comfort it brought. "I would never allow myself to partake in such distasteful character flaws." 

Cullen chuckled darkly, and the way his chest rumbled under Dorian's ear, the way the sound cascaded through him like sweet wine on a Sunday afternoon, made Dorian flush lightly, thanking the heavens above he was facing away from Cullen. "You also snore like a bear." 

Dorian groaned, blindly reaching behind him for a pillow which he eagerly slapped against Cullen's face, letting himself smile only slightly as his laugh reverberated again through his ears. "Tell anyone, Commander, and I'm drowning you in the Fallow Mire." 

The laugh did not stop coming, trickling down into vibrations settling in his chest as he inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly as his hand went back to it's ministrations in his hair. "What were you going to say?" He asked, pressing only slightly, considerate of whether or not Dorian still wished to share his intimate thoughts, and Dorian relished in that air of appreciation and patience. 

"I-" Dorian sighed, eyes closing tightly against the familiar, unwelcome dejected ghosts retaking his soul as he recounted his prior experiences with men. "I just did not expect you to still be here, after all."

He did not dare move to see Cullen's expression, but he could feel his empathetic glance boring sizeable holes into the top of his head. Cullen shifted slightly in the bed, Dorian dipping with his movements as he wrapped an arm on top of Dorian's, other arm reaching over until he had successfully wrapped Dorian into a hug that was both suffocating and essential. "Where else would I be?" 

The notion itself was enough to make Dorian fight back tears. The first time he'd been with the Inquisitor, admitting to what "love" was like for him back home had had the opposite effect. _'Do you want me to leave?'_ The question had opened up an array of choices for Dorian then, and he hated the way each of them made him feel. He inevitably left that choice up to the Inquisitor, who bless his heart _did_ choose to stay most of the time, but both men were routinely surrounded by an air of pressure as if they were trapped with eachother, Trevelyan forced into staying just because Dorian didn't know what it felt like to be held in the morning. He knew Trevelyan was trying his best, but the mere fact that he had to constantly ask after what Dorian wanted instead of just _knowing,_ was enough to sever ties between the both of them early off. It had stayed that way until the very end, both holding eachother but never holding _on_ to eachother, denying the reality that they simply did not belong together, grasping desparately for the tiny reassurances that their love was truly the love they both needed. 

Cullen Rutherford, Dorian realized at this very moment, was that reassurance. There was no question to this. And that terrified him, because he realized that he had no idea what to do with that information. He'd never truly been allowed the luxury of having a man truly love him in the way he wanted to be loved before, most men looking for a grasp of power or a simple fun Saturday night, leaving Dorian alone the next morning. But not Cullen. 

Cullen, of course, seemed to have noticed Dorian's distress somehow, because he sighed, tightening his grasp against the whole of him. "I'm not going anywhere, Dorian. If it takes me to my last breath, I will prove it to you."

And if Dorian had let out a choked sob at that, neither men gave attention to it. Dorian burrowed into the crook of Cullen's neck, squeezing his arms around him as if he was checking if he was truly there and this wasn't some trick of the maker. "I...I'm sorry, Cullen.''

"Do not apologize," Cullen said so immediately, so sternly, that Dorian might've almost guessed he was 17 years old again, being scolded by his third magics professor of the month. "You just need time, and I am more than willing to give that to you. I would give anything to you, if you asked." Dorian said nothing in those paralyzingly tense manner of seconds, too afraid to speak, too concerned that opening his mouth would shatter the barrier he was straining so hard to maintain to keep his sobs at bay. Cullen was the only one to move, to speak, to _breathe,_ as he wrapped his arms again around Dorian, lifting him further up his chest to lay a resounding kiss against the top of his head. One hand rubbing against Dorian's arm and the other playing with his hair again, Cullen sighed into a whisper, "It was _never_ your fault, Dorian."

The minute he realized Cullen was referencing not only his insignificant moments with men who wouldn't be with him the next morning, but also his preference to men, as foreign and _small_ as it had made him feel under those powerful, burning grey eyes he shared with his father, the excruciating years he'd spent after his confession, utterly alone and blaming not a single soul but himself for where it had left him, despising the very thought of himself despite how he held himself in the eyes of others-that he was disgustingly wrong to ever believe it was his fault, Dorian sobbed freely into Cullen's chest. 

Cullen said nothing, only held Dorian well into the morning hours.

* * *

They did not see each other very much in the weeks after that morning. It was neither of their fault's really, the duty of the Inquisition certainly had no special care to their budding relationship, after all. Cullen still had plenty of things that must take priority over their trivial fumbling, and Dorian still needed to be sure to keep the Inquisitor breathing, always potentially at the cost of his own breaths. It also didn't help that Trevelyan never seemed to trade Dorian out for anyone else, but that never really bothered Dorian much. Ever since they'd met, Dorian had been alongside Trevelyan as they traversed through battlefield and bog alike, and if that had come to a stop because of where he and Trevelyan were now, Dorian was not sure he could handle that much fragility and unwanted change in his life. He was still very good friends with him and trusted Trevelyan with his life as well as he would happily give up his to keep him safe, and he knew Trevelyan knew that. 

But he truly did lay awake most nights, despite his crippling exhaustion from their eventful days-and trust him, there were plenty of those, Trevelyan was as determined as he was foolish-wishing he could look over and see Cullen asleep next to him. Not Cassandra or Sera or Bull, whoever Trevelyan deemed worthy of protecting his ass. Something inside of him rather sappily hoped Cullen thought after him, too.

So to say he was disappointed when the party had returned from their three week excursion in the Western Approach, and he didn't see hide nor hair of Cullen as he'd fantasized to the slightest detail the entire way back, would be a blatant understatement. 

Still, he waited. And waited. And waited, for Cullen to make his appearance. Dorian was not a man to run after another man's heels like some lovesick puppy, he would leave that entirely to the other party to do that. He had a reputation to maintain after all, and far be it for the mighty Dorian Pavus to seem desperate.

But he was. The more the clock in his head ticked by, the more desperate he became. In the past, he'd acted upon that. Made special appearances, ghosted just out of the other's sights until they finally noticed he was there. And every single time he'd acted, he'd lost people. He did not want to lose Cullen. 

Once the second day back to Skyhold had passed without a single sighting of Cullen, even when he'd given in and tried to discreetly seek him out, Dorian felt himself crumbling. He knew more than anyone how to pick himself up after all hope was lost, he just really wished he would stop falling for the lies. Cullen was very convincing, and Dorian was certain he had meant what he said about proving his being a constant in Dorian's life, but if he really had meant that, he was doing a horrid job at it. 

He was used to this. He would need some extra time raiding Josephine's wine collection and breaking alone in his room well into the night, but he would eventually get over Cullen. It hurt him more than he knew at the prospect, but damn him if he was going to sit and stew in his pain and longing forever. 

As a matter of fact, he was just about to leave his nook in the library to bribe Josephine for just one more bottle, when he collided with what could almost be mistaken as a wall with arms. The feeling of itchy fur irritating his eyelids and wrinkling his nose into a sneeze was telling enough of just what, or _who,_ was in the way. 

He peeled himself from the half-wall half-human, looking up at that beautiful but terrible face of Cullen Rutherford with as placid an expression he could force through. "Ah, my apologies, Commander," he did not miss the twist in Cullen's features as he defaulted to his title, "I seem to always be in your way." 

Dorian knew he was being dramatic, maybe even harsh, but from where he was standing, he had every right to be cross. Three entire days without seeing Cullen anywhere, after he'd carelessly poured every one of his insecurities out to him only for him to respond in guilded lies and distance, was sure to leave a sore spot to anyone. 

Cullen peered down at him with an overwhelmingly guilty look adorning his features, and it was then that Dorian noticed the bags under his eyes. Cullen had always had trouble sleeping at night, you didn't have to be close to him to know that fact. But had he always been this pale? Had he already had this.. _sickly_ look to him? 

The thoughts haulted Dorian's petty dramatics, for sure. 

"Dorian," Cullen drawled, guilt and pleading undertones obvious in his speech. "Dorian, please forgive me. I had not planned on taking so long to see you-when I'd heard you were back, I-"

"Remember to breathe, Cullen," Dorian said, and he meant it as much as he joked about it. Taking Cullen's hand in his, he lead him back to the nook in the library, pulling out his chair and forcing Cullen into it. "Now, speak slowly as if I were a young man of five years." 

Cullen rolled his eyes, but sighed as he leaned back into Dorian's chair as if he hadn't sat down in ages. Given what little Dorian knew about what truly hung on Cullen's shoulders daily, he wouldn't be surprised if that were actually the case. Dorian sat back against the edge of his research desk, watching as Cullen's eyes fluttered shut and he rubbed at them tiredly, keeping them shut as he stretched his arms languidly over his head. When he finally opened his eyes to look back at Dorian, Dorian had to fight the urge to bundle him up like a small child and force him to nap. "Come with me." 

Of all the things he was expecting, this certainly was not one of them. "I-what?" 

Cullen, pretending he didn't hear that, was already staggering to his feet and latching onto Dorian's arm. "I said, come with me." 

"Where are we going?" Dorian asked, because he couldn't find it in him to refuse Cullen, despite how independent he claimed to be. 

"I've been racking my brain for hours trying to find a way to make my absence up to you," Cullen began cryptically, grip on Dorian's arm secure as if he expected Dorian to flee. "You have exceptionally high standards. It was a very taxing challenge." 

Dorian snorted, because denying that would be a bold-faced lie, and Dorian Pavus did not lie. "Yes, my dear Commander, because insulting a man's character is a crucial step to his forgiveness, naturally." 

Cullen chuckled lightly, but the look he spared over his shoulder was self-conscious. "If you could not tell, Dorian, I very much like a challenge." 

Dorian raised a single brow at him, but said nothing as he let himself be manhandled and drug towards maker knows where because even if Cullen was leading Dorian to his certain death, he had a deep-seated feeling he'd follow him into it willingly. Cullen was equally silent, but the way he'd loosen his grip on Dorian's hand and then tighten it again told Dorian he was far into his head again, more than likely doubting himself. He did that a lot. Dorian felt deeply, about everything, but he was not a very sensual man. The least he could offer Cullen for comfort was a reaffirming squeeze against his hand everytime it would loosen in his. As miniscule as the notion seemed to Dorian, it appeared to have assuaged Cullen's doubts, for he felt as Cullen squeezed back, and his hand retained that confident pressure on him until he very suddenly stopped all forward movement, almost toppling Dorian over in the process. 

_"Kaffas,"_ he hissed, righting himself and glaring at Cullen. "A warning or two would be preferable next time, Commander. I do have a stunning figure to maintain, as I'm sure you're aware."

Cullen smirked at him, amber eyes dancing like a drop of melted honey swirling in his tea as he turned expectantly toward him. "I adore you, Dorian, but please do shut up and look." 

Dorian scoffed at the order, but conceded with a huff as his eyes drifted ahead of them. 

In front of him was one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever seen, for Southern standards anyway. A small nook area in the wooded area just outside of Skyhold's walls, surrounded by bountiful nature as the sky etched out in brilliant pinks and oranges as the afternoon sky slowly slipped into night. On the floor beside their feet was an array of candles, all lit and following in a trail of creamy white tulips until it stopped just before a blanket, soft and spread against the bright green grass. On the blanket was a singular basket, two wine glasses sitting upon it and mountains of pillows on either side of the basket. 

Breathless, Dorian could at first do nothing but grasp Cullen's shoulder tightly as he was the only grounding force keeping his very soul from rising from his body at the sight. After what felt like an eternity, he finally turned to glance at Cullen fully, who returned the glance but had that confounding doubt clouding over his eyes. 

"A picnic?" Dorian asked, still breathless.

Cullen's cheeks flushed at the question, lighting his cheeks in a peculiar shade of pink under the candle-glow and setting sun illuminating them. Instinctively, his hand came to scratch at the back of his neck as he cleared his throat, breaking Dorian's gaze to focus on the sight in front of him like it was a life-line. "Yes. I-I know that you are not very..fond of the snow, and the dead- _everything_ you've grown accustomed to seeing ever since you came South, and I thought it would do much better for you to see something different. The true beauty of the Southern forests, without the bad and the ugly." He exhaled shakily, swallowing so hard Dorian could see his throat bob under the pressure of it. "I know it is probably a stupid idea, but I just thought that maybe you-"

"Cullen," Dorian interjected fondly, grabbing Cullen's hand and closing it between both of his, "it's beautiful." 

Dorian could have died a complete man after seeing that marvelous, beautiful smile that stretched across Cullen's entire face now, lighting his features into a content glow. Stepping forward slightly, he tugged eagerly at Dorian's hand. "Come then, let me show you what I had prepared for us.''

The recruit wiped the sweat from her brow, stripping herself of the various plates of armor exhaustedly as she all but sank into the refreshing pool of water just outside Skyhold's waters, lolling her head back and floating on her back just above the surface, listening intently to the lull of the wildlife around her, feeling the intense calm from the setting sun's warmth encompassing her bare body, feeling herself sink into a numbing, silent calm, when-

_"Peeled grapes! For all that is holy, Cullen, I will marry you on the spot!"_

* * *

"It's the withdrawals, isn't it?" Dorian broke the relative silence that had lapsed over the two, lifting his head slightly from Cullen's chest to peer at his face. 

Cullen halted in his intentions of peeling another grape off its vines to feed Dorian, face turning slightly ashen and stern against the paling moonlight. "How-how did you know about that?" 

"I've seen my fair share of southern templars in my time in the South, Commander," Dorian said lightly, but his tone was somber. "Lyrium has a staunch affect on mages not accustomed to it's usage. It's akin to the whispers and humming you templars feel, however it's more painful to mages. A distant throbbing that grows larger the more you're around it." Dorian reached out a hand, grasping Cullen's thigh lightly in it. "You may not have been a templar when I met you, but you _were_ one. For a very long time. I expected to feel that uncomfortable pull of lyrium when I was around you. But I never did." 

Cullen sighed deeply, forcing his eyes shut as he disposed of the grapes back in the picnic basket, leaning back until he was laying against the mountain of pillows behind him. He slowly brought both hands up, rubbing sternly at his temples. "I stopped using a few days before I left the order. It's been months now without a single drought." 

"You stopped cold turkey?" Dorian glanced down heavily on the prone form of Cullen beneath him, anger flaring hot in his chest as Cullen meekly nodded against the pillows. "Cullen Rutherford, that's highly dangerous! It could _kill_ you!" 

The resounding silence from Cullen infuriated Dorian to no end, and he shifted to stand before Cullen weakly gripped around his wrist. When Dorian forced himself to look back, Cullen was staring at him, eyes a heartbreaking shade of dismal brown as they pleaded silently with Dorian. "I cannot be bound to that life anymore, Dorian," he whispered, eyes fluttering shut and his hand sliding off Dorian's wrist. "I will not go back to the man I once was."

The first instinct Dorian would have had in this situation were it anyone else would have been to run. He would have cut ties with Cullen and bid him good luck on his feeble attempts at staying alive. But now, now he couldn't help but to feel immensely sorry for Cullen, and wanted nothing more than to fix him all by himself, and it both shocked and thrilled Dorian that for the first time since he'd realized he was gay that he cared for someone more than he cared for himself.

Dorian sighed, reaching out and squeezing lightly at Cullen's arm. "Cullen, I think I know something that can help you." 

Cullen cracked open an eye, glaring at him knowingly, a hint of fear hidden in the glint of his eye. "Magic?" 

Slowly, Dorian nodded. "It's a spell I learned through research before I came to the south. It is not a permanent solution, but a poignant temporary relief from the most painful of withdrawal symptoms." Seeing Cullen war with himself, Dorian swallowed slowly, leaning forward so that Cullen was forced to stare right into his eyes, snaking his hand across his chest before it was laying flat against Cullen's steady heartbeat. "I understand your wariness, Cullen. Believe me. And I will never ever do anything to you without your full consent. It is magic, and I understand your fear, but it is a relatively harmless spell. I would never willingly hurt you." His hand came up to cradle Cullen's haw, tilting his head slightly as he stared into those amber eyes that reminded him of the golden brown chardonnay lying still in his glass back in his chambers. "Whatever you decide, Cullen, know that I am here. I will always be here for you." 

Cullen, gulping tightly against the large lump building in his throat, let out a cacophony of shuddered breaths, a single tear falling from his right eye as he slowly nodded. "Okay, Dorian. I trust you." 

Dorian gave him a genuine smile, catching the tear falling down his cheek and rubbing it away between his thumb and forefinger. Leaning further back, he let his eyes fall shut as he chanted the spell's tongued incantation, feeling the magic surge to life in the core of his gut, spiraling up through his torso before it held stagnant in his hand, humming lowly as it reverberated through his fingers. His hand cast in a light blue hue, he retained strict and comforting eye contact with Cullen as he gently lowered his hand onto the center of Cullen's forehead, feeling the magic begin to seep from his hands and into Cullen like water dripping off your hands from the faucet, closing his eyes involuntary under the small pull of it's release. He felt Cullen tense at first as the icy magic coated his skin, but as the magic hummed to life against him, Dorian felt as Cullen's grip on his wrist loosened, and finally laxed in his, accompanied by slow, heavy breathing. When he felt the magic finally spill out of him, Dorian opened his eyes to see Cullen asleep against the pillows beneath him, face a perfect picture of peace as his eyes flickered lightly under their lids. 

Dorian sighed, sitting back and pouring hismelf the rest of the Tevinter wine Cullen had somehow obtained, just for him, accompanying warmth settling into his stomach as he swallowed, watching Cullen sleep with a serene smile etched into his cheeks. 


End file.
